“The car crash was a blind! Men like Acheron don’t die that easily! Take the Litera Tec job in Swindon!”
The woman in the bed just had time to repeat my last word before the ceiling and floor opened up and we plummeted back into the maelstrom. After a dazzling display of colorful noise and loud light, the vortex slid back to be replaced by the parking lot of a motorway services somewhere. The tempest slowed and stopped.
“Is this it?” asked Bowden.
“I don’t know.”
It was night and the streetlamps cast an orange glow over the parking lot, the roadway shiny from recent rain.
A car pulled in next to us; it was a large Pontiac containing a family. The wife was berating her husband for falling asleep at the wheel and the children were crying. It looked like it had been a near-miss.
“Excuse me!” I yelled. The man wound down his window.
“Yes?”
“What’s the date?”
“The date?”
“It’s July 8,” replied the man’s wife, shooting him and me an annoyed glance.
I thanked her and turned back to Bowden.
“We’re three weeks in the past?” he queried.
“Or fifty-six weeks into the future.”
“Or one hundred and eight.”
“I’m going to find out where we are.”
I turned off the ignition and got out. Bowden joined me as we walked toward the cafeteria. Beyond the building we could see the motorway, and beyond that the connecting bridge to the services on the opposite motorway.
Several tow trucks drove past us with empty cars hitched to the back of them.
“Something’s not right.”
“I agree,” replied Bowden. “But what?”
Suddenly, the doors to the cafeteria burst open and a woman pushed her way out. She was carrying a gun and pushing a man in front of her, who stumbled as they hurried out. Bowden pulled me behind a parked van. We peered cautiously out and saw that the woman had unwelcome company; several men had appeared seemingly from nowhere and all of them were armed.
“What the?—” I whispered, suddenly realizing what was happening. “That’s me!”
And so it was. I looked slightly older but it was definitely me. Bowden had noticed too.
“I’m not sure I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
“You prefer it long?”
“Of course.”
We watched as one of the three men told the other me to drop her gun. I-me-she said something we couldn’t hear and then put her gun down, releasing her hold on the man, who was then grabbed roughly by one of the other men.
“What’s going on?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“We’ve got to go!” replied Bowden.
“And leave me like this?”